


meditations on renaissance girlhood (borgia style)

by congratsyouvegrownasoul



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Borgias - Ambiguous Fandom, Historical RPF
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Let's Talk About Gender, Pregnancy, Unconventional Families, that's an understatement for sure lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 02:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratsyouvegrownasoul/pseuds/congratsyouvegrownasoul
Summary: "As the youngest in her family, Giulia cannot know what it would be like to have a real little sister, but she imagines it might be something like having Lucrezia. That’s odd, of course, considering Lucrezia will be her child’s sister, not her own, but the idea still stands."





	meditations on renaissance girlhood (borgia style)

Giulia, in some ways, is used to feeling weighed down by her own body.

Her beautiful hair, falling past her knees, lies heavy on her. The thick, golden tresses are her greatest glory, of course—other women always comment on them, whether in wonder or in envy. Men on the street give her looks out of the corners of their eyes, as if she were a goddess too bright to stare at directly. Unbound, her hair drapes her body like a silken cloak, fluttering at the slightest movement and tangling at any provocation. When she bathes, the water seeps into it and pulls her head back, tugging her down. On an ordinary day it is carefully braided, piled massive and high, then tucked under a cap or a snood, and by the evening often her head and neck ache.

Now, Giulia understands a different kind of weight. As she reaches the end of her pregnancy, her body has rounded out so that she barely recognizes the way she used to look and feel. Now, not only her neck aches but the small of her back, arched in to carry the burden of her belly. Her hips have angled outward, shifting her gait, and her breaths are rendered quick and shallow by her baby’s body pushing up on her lungs.

She used to be able to run up stairs two at a time, like a giddy child. She used to dance. Rodrigo loves to dance, in his private chambers, just the two of them with a musician accompanying. He’s exuberant and agile, in this as in all things, especially given his age and stoutness. He can whirl her around through the strains of song until she’s breathless and laughing. Now, she’s always breathless.

She feels, in a way, as if she has betrayed herself from within, robbed of her mobility, her looks. As difficult as her hair can be, it always adds to the spectacle of her beauty. Carrying a child is hopelessly ordinary, and, swollen like a ripe fruit, her figure draws less admiration and more gossip.

They call her all sorts of things; some are rather flattering, like Giulia la Bella. Some are wickedly clever—“the bride of Christ.” Some are blunt—“the pope’s concubine.” Many are filthy, unrepeatable.

She can’t gracefully brush off the whispers anymore; now her mere appearance proves every rumor. She can’t glide through the streets and appear not to have a care in the world when her ungainly body wobbles on sore ankles.

At least Rodrigo still finds her appealing, even voluptuous, though his attentions are more cautious than before. They come in starts and stops now that it’s so hard for her to keep comfortable.

Even at home, when the whispers have ceased and she’s meant to be calm, she feels both heavy and restless. In their palazzo’s cloistered porch, there’s a long, low couch where she likes to sit and read. Even with a thicket of plump, plush pillows surrounding her, she is always shifting. Whether she stretches out or curls up, she always finds her belly in the way.

Still, the loggia overlooks the garden, especially beautiful now as the leaves change, all flaming red and dusty orange. Since the summer heat has faded, it’s much more pleasant as well. The flower beds have been cleared out to make way for new planting before winter comes, and the children have been running through the softened ground, kicking up clods of black earth and shouting in their play.

When they come back in, they parade on bare and muddy feet.  Flinging themselves down around her, they’re loose-limbed and beaming, cheeks flushed from the crisp air. Giulia tucks her psaltery away between two pillows, calling out a greeting.

Little Joffre just waves in response, then flops down on the tiled floor, pulling bright glass marbles from his pockets and setting them to roll.  His sister Lucrezia, however, climbs up on the couch beside Giulia, making sure to lift her dirty toes delicately above the embroidered cushions.

When she first met Lucrezia, she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever see the younger girl as such a close friend. Giulia is a grown woman—nearly nineteen, wedded albeit in name only, and bedded plenty besides that. Lucrezia, only twelve, is still a fresh-faced, playful maiden girl. But especially since Rodrigo’s coronation, their worlds have been thrown together. Despite their varying ages and experiences, the pope’s illicit daughter and his yet more scandalous mistress have much in common.

In this strange new life, which so few others can understand, constriction and danger have bonded as well as bound them. With enemies on all sides, the Borgias have closed ranks. Though Giulia is not a Borgia, her baby will be, in blood if not in name. Their lives, their spirit, their walls and armor are hers now.

As the youngest in her family, Giulia cannot know what it would be like to have a real little sister, but she imagines it might be something like having Lucrezia. That’s odd, of course, considering Lucrezia will be her child’s sister, not her own, but the idea still stands.

So she scoots to the side as best she is able, trying to make room for Lucrezia on the couch, which now seems far too narrow. Wedged together, the two of them dissolve into giggles, with Giulia falling back against the pillows and Lucrezia sprawled against her knees.

“You ought to go out into the garden more,” the younger girl says, tilting her head far back to peer playfully at Giulia from upside down.

“It’s so pretty right now, and it will be colder soon.”

“Oh, I mustn’t, I don’t want to get freckles.”

Lucrezia wrinkles her own faintly freckled nose.

“I suppose.”

She sticks the tip of her tongue out thoughtfully.

“I think the sun might be making my hair fairer, though. It looked darker before the summer, and Cesare says I’m too young to bleach it with lemon juice.”

Giulia catches a strand of Lucrezia’s caramel-colored hair in between her thumb and forefinger, twisting ever so slightly and watching how it glimmers golden in the sunshine. Still, though, it is darker than the blonde feminine ideal.

“I don’t know. Don’t worry, though, your hair is nice and soft. And you can bleach it after you’re married, if you like.”

“If I get married in the first place, with this horrid mousy hair!”

There’s laughter in her voice, but also a tinge of anxiety.

“It isn’t nearly that bad! And besides, there are other virtues than beauty, you know.”

“You only say that because you’re already beautiful.”

“It’s true; I suppose I must count my blessings there. But anyone can improve on their character—and I promise, if you cultivate your wit and charm, it will add tenfold to your looks. And you are _very_ witty already. Besides, Lucrezia, you are so graceful—when you’re not stomping in mud puddles.”

Giulia chucks her gently under the chin at that, and is rewarded with a little laugh.

Lucrezia shifts backwards, wrapping one arm around Giulia’s round belly.

“I hope the baby has pretty golden hair like you,” she says, but the wistfulness is gone from her tone.

“Well, _I_ hope the baby is as clever as you and your father.”

“I hope it doesn’t cry so very much,” Joffre adds unexpectedly, sending one of the marbles shooting across the loggia with a practiced flick of his fingertips.

“Babies cry, Joffre!” Lucrezia admonishes, and Giulia laughs.

“I’m not sure I like babies all that much,” Joffre says stiffly. “No offense, Giulia.”

“None taken. I hope for minimal crying too.”

“Well, I think he’s just irked he won’t be the baby of the family anymore.”

“I am not!”

There’s a tremor in his voice, however, that suggests this denial may not be entirely true.

“Lucrezia, don’t tease your brother.  Joffre, if you are worried—”

“I’m not!”

“I’m sure you’re not. But regardless, you will always be _your_ mother’s baby.”

Joffre smiles bashfully, then turns away to sweep his marbles up.

“ _I_ might not be the only girl anymore,” Lucrezia says, sounding rather pleased at the prospect.

“Oh, yes,” Giulia laughs. “Cesare and Juan and Joffre had better watch out!”

Joffre snorts dismissively.

“You don’t think so?”

Lucrezia jumps up from the couch in a whirl of skirts.

“I could take you! And the baby could drool on you, too!”

Joffre charges off, with Lucrezia in hot pursuit, both laughing wildly.

Giulia watches them go, laughing herself. Perhaps, she thinks, once her baby’s walking, all four of them can play games together, if Lucrezia is still unmarried.

**Author's Note:**

> what's up y'all I'm back on the Borgias bandwagon after four years and it's time to return to my favorite topic: Women In History


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